


a shadow on snow

by smallrosebush



Series: permanent, intolerable uncertainty [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Descriptions of Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fix-It, Genderfluid Character, Other, i just wrote this to get it out of my system but read it if you want ig, post-resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-02 22:37:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16796053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallrosebush/pseuds/smallrosebush
Summary: It's been weeks since the ritual, and Caleb still freezes when he sees Molly, as if he's expecting a ghost.





	a shadow on snow

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic, and it's really just me venting and thinking about the left hand of darkness. it's likely extraordinarily out of character. disclaimer that i haven't watched past ep 24. constructive criticism is, of course, appreciated.

It's been weeks since the ritual, and Caleb still freezes when he sees Molly, as if he's expecting a ghost.

Molly feels more like a ghost than he would prefer. Some shadow of death seems to have stuck with him this time, and Caleb is by no means alone in his reaction. Everyone but Yasha still flinches at the accidental brush of Molly's too-cold skin. Even Jester, healing a battle wound that had refused to bleed, had winced while laying her hands on him. They've been through a few towns large enough to give Molly the opportunity of a bath, but scrubbing his fingertips raw hadn't been enough to get the grave-dirt out from under his nails. How many times can a person die before a part of them refuses to come back? How many times has this body died already without Molly's knowledge?

Molly hasn't missed the abrupt halt in Caleb's conversation with Beau as he's stepped in front of the cart to help unbridle the horses. Molly feels the urge to apologize, but shoves it away and does his best to move with his old easy grace of living. There's being an oddity to strangers, and then there's being an oddity to friends; Molly's quite sure now that he hates the latter.

There's fresh snow on the ground, he realizes only later as he tries to dig a firepit. This late in the season, he should be shivering in just a thin jacket. There's poorly-masked concern in Beau's eyes as she kneels down to help him. Unable to stand it, he looks away.

Night fell hours ago: if Caleb hadn't struck up a transparent barrier between the party and any intruders, someone would be on second watch right now. As it is, Molly's the only one awake as he watches snowflakes dissipate against the evoked invisible ceiling. Jester, having dropped her inhibitions in sleep, is curled up against Molly. Careful not to disturb her, he sits up carefully and stares at the uniformly grey sky.

At a sudden noise to his left, his head whips around. He relaxes only marginally when he finds Caleb's bright eyes fixed on him, face tired-looking as his own must be. Molly pauses, then inclines his head towards the woods that lie against one half of the Hut. Caleb nods. They pick their individual ways out of the bubble, Caleb tracing absentminded somatics in the air as he exits.

Molly doesn't shiver when the cold air hits him. Caleb, in his heavy cloak, raises his eyebrows but says nothing, and Molly is grateful for that at least. Instead he asks, "Shall we take a walk?"

Molly nods. He leads the way into the woods and is reassured by the sound of crunching footsteps behind him. The world feels hushed and brand-new underneath the snow; had they not left their sleeping companions minutes ago, he would readily believe he and Caleb were the only two living creatures in existence.

At the sudden sense of having gone far enough, Molly stops walking. He glances up at where he knows the moons to be in the sky and wishes they were visible. Regardless, he offers a quick silent prayer to the Moonweaver before turning to face his friend.

Caleb opens his mouth, but seems to think better of what he was going to say. Instead he asks, "How have you been?"

"Much better for the past few weeks," Molly jokes, and immediately regrets it when the corners of Caleb's mouth draw down. "That is, thank you. For the ritual."

"Of course," Caleb replies quietly. "I am only sorry it took so long."

Molly's heard the reasons behind it, the story of how his friends tried at first to move on without him. "No worries. I would have been fine- well, staying as I was- if you lot had gotten away."

Caleb hesitates. "But you don't..."

Molly catches the meaning behind his change in tone and realizes. "Oh! No, I didn't mean- No, I don't plan on dying again anytime soon." Somehow, it still hurts to put a name to what happened.

Some of the tension drains out of Caleb's posture. "Good, good," he mutters. Almost as an afterthought, he adds, "And... how are you adjusting?"

Molly grabs at words and finally settles on, "Better than I would be alone. Thank you."

"I know-" Caleb says, and pauses. "I know how it is to feel- what I think you are feeling. Out of place in your own body."

Molly snorts a bit. "It's terrible!"

"Isn't it?"

"But nothing I haven't gone through before."

"Me neither." Caleb's dropped the mask of the last few weeks, and he seems more at ease now than Molly's seen him since before the kidnapping. Molly realizes with some measure of hope that Caleb hadn't been scared of him, but worried. The latter drops his eyes to the ground for a moment, then turns away as if to walk back to camp. Without thinking, Molly grabs his wrist. Caleb halts.

Molly drops his hand quickly. "Shit- I'm sorry- wait! Please."

Caleb's face angled back towards him is obscured, half pitch-black even with Molly's darkvision. Molly can only imagine how blind, how lost, a human must feel. Perhaps they're in the same boat, then.

Molly tries to keep his voice steady. "You were- were you going to say something else?" A pause stretches on in which settling snow and soft breaths are the only sounds. "You can say anything to me. I owe you my life, after all."

"A third of it," Caleb corrects. "And I am not so sure that is true."

Silence falls again until Caleb steps towards Molly, hesitating before reaching out his arms and wrapping his cloak around the tiefling. Molly freezes at the unexpected embrace, but soon relaxes into the first non-Yasha affection he's received since his second resurrection. The contact grounds him, as physical touch often does. He rests his head on Caleb's shoulder as they listen to the isolating, comforting silence.

A moment and a decade later, he pulls back and finds Caleb's eyes darting over every inch of his face. _Memorizing me_ , Molly realizes, and cannot stop himself from leaning forward. Caleb closes the rest of the distance. Their lips brush for a breath of time and the two stare at each other.

The stillness is broken when Caleb chuckles. Molly laughs in response, and the two are soon draped over each other, wheezing at nothing.

When their laughter subsides, Molly reluctantly extricates himself from under Caleb's cloak and offers the other his elbow. "Shall we?" he asks.

Caleb, still smiling, takes the proffered arm. The two make their way back to camp, alone for a moment in the soft silence of a starless night.


End file.
